Finding Peace
by Tari Tinuviel
Summary: Sarah has lost her husband, and now she seeks Jerusalem to try and find some peace. However much is questioned when Jerusalem goes under Siege: a Muslim who tries to remain neutral simply because she has befriended someone out of her faith... A friendship that - despite all - seems to hold something deeper. That is something that does not bode well for Sarah or her friend.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own KoH, also aside from the story-line you will find I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible...

* * *

Jerusalem was a city that called out to people of every faith, a land that had the most bloody of pasts, and a future that would remain turbulent for over two thousand years... Within it there were churches and mosques and buildings built by the Romans and the Phoenicians before them, there was history that went as far as pre-history so it was no surprise that it was one of the most sought-for cities in the world.

The war for Jerusalem was a war that never ended, that is why most people were not surprised with the Crusades, nor were they surprised with Saladin's response to them, Jerusalem was a place for both Muslims and Christians to take claim of, and as such there were many problems between the people of both faiths.

She had grown up within the city, but when her parents found that life had grown difficult because despite the fact that they all had an equal share of the city, some of the people within it made it difficult for them to live a peaceful life, her father had problems with some of the soldiers that had newly dubbed themselves as 'the Knights Templar', they had moved to Spain where there was a widely Muslim rule and it was called Al-Andalus.

At the age of twenty she was married to a man she had known since she was a child, he was a well learned man who loved to travel everywhere, she was not partial to travel - in fact she preferred to stay in their home at Cordoba.

It was not for lack of ability to travel, she simply had no need, she thought Cordoba was beautiful enough, she enjoyed remaining in their home where they had many books and many a thing for her to do simply to pass the time.

They had been, for the better part of the past three years of their marriage, attempting to have a child, yet often he was unsure simply because he had the habit to be away from home for many a week on end... Often he would be gone for months.

However, chance struck that she was indeed with child, he had been overjoyed with the news, and she had been ecstatic.

He looked up at his home, in it's simplicity it was beautiful, the red stone wall greeted him warmly in the afternoon sun, he lead his horse through the front gates before a servant took it away just as he grabbed his bags, he walked past a fountain that bubbled merrily like some sort of song.

He walked into the house where he could hear merry singing through the house, he could easily discern he voice, happily he ran to find his wife, and find her he did. She sat on a window-seat with black fabric in her hand as she embroidered, her stomach pleasantly swollen with the promise of a child of their own, her face had become round with the pregnancy and he thought it made her look all the more lovely.

She looked up and her green eyes lit up, "Yousef!" she cried out happily.

"Sarah," he dropped his bags and she put her things aside as she got up and then she ran into his embrace.

He ran a hand through her dark-brown curls as she hid her face in his shoulder, when she looked up at him she had a big smile on her face, "You're home!"

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, "I am home, and I have very important news to tell you," he smiled gently.

She smiled, "Important news?" she asked.

"Very important, it could shape the fate of our family," he said as he put a hand on her stomach.

Sarah studied her husband for a long moment, he had fiery red hair and pale blue eyes - something that most people identified him by, she wondered what sort of news he had to tell her. "Maybe you should rest before you tell me your news," she stated gently as she put her hands on his chest.

He nodded, "I will bathe," he said, "and then we shall speak..."

She smiled before she stepped away from him and he walked off leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Since he had began his travels he had spoken much about Saladin, an Ayyubid Sultan who was waging wars against the Christians in Palestine. In truth she was worried that he would decide to join ranks with the Sultan, not because it was not a noble cause - for all Muslims wanted Jerusalem to be theirs once more, but she did not know if she could handle to see her husband go to war.

She didn't want to live with the thought that he could die in the battle-field and never return to her and their child - whatever their child was.

When he returned she had abandoned her embroidery, if anything she was anxious about what he had to say, he grabbed her hands gently as he sat beside her, "My love, I have exciting news!" he said happily.

"What is it?" she asked as she attempted to keep her tone light.

"I have been approached by the Sultan himself to join his ranks!" he said.

Her worst fears had been confirmed, "W-What?" she asked quietly.

"I have been asked to join the ranks as a scribe," he said, "and a translator between him and the court of Jerusalem -"

"Yousef, it is dangerous!" she cried out as she got up.

"Sarah -" he said as he watched her clutch her stomach, "this is what I've always wanted..."

She stopped to look at him, "This is what you have always wanted," she said slowly, "you have always wanted to go off with a large army never knowing if you will live or not -"

"Sarah, I'm not going to be fighting -"

"You're going to be with the Sultan himself!" she was exasperated, "That is in the front lines! Yousef! Think about this! Think about me, and about your unborn child!"

"I am thinking!" he yelled as he sprung to his feet, "I am thinking about you - about the child - do you not know how much I am? If I join Saladin we will receive an allowance and we can give our child the very best of things -"

"It matters not if that child's father is not alive!"

"Sarah -"

She held her hands up, "Do not 'Sarah' me," she said, "I will not listen!"

He didn't know what to say, she was upset - and he did not understand why, he was about to speak but suddenly a servant walked in, "My lady, my lord," she spoke, "there is a Knight requesting to speak with you, he is a Christian."

Sarah frowned as she looked at Yousef, "One of your friends?" she asked.

"I do not know," he responded, "cover your hair and I will go see."

She nodded and left as he walked to the courtyard. She grabbed a head-scarf from a chest and she wrapped it about her head before she curiously walked out, her hand grabbing the fabric to her mouth as it was something her mother had taught her to do.

She walked out into the courtyard and she saw her husband embracing a very tall man, indeed he wore Knight garb, the man looked up and spotted Sarah, he bowed to her.

Yousef turned and then he smiled, "This is my wife, Sarah," he said as he held out his hand, shyly she walked over to him and she gently grasped Yousef's hand as she removed her hand from her face.

"As lovely as you have said and more," the man said, his voice was surprisingly deep.

"Sarah, this is a friend of my fathers, he is the lord Godfrey of Ibelin."

"Ibelin," she said, "that is in Palestine!" She could not even remember the last time she had been to her birth-land.

"Indeed that is," Godfrey said with a smile.

"How do you know Yousef's father?" she couldn't help but ask.

He laughed, "That is a very long story," he stated. Sarah could not help but feel that both men were keeping something very important from her.

Yousef happily embraced the man once more, "I shall show you about my home, my old friend," he said before the pair walked off leaving a very confused Sarah in their wake.

Godfrey looked down at his companion as they walked out into the courtyard, "You have not told her?" he asked, "Your own wife?"

Yousef's expression was one of slight contempt, "I doubt she would understand... She loves me greatly, and I love her - but you know what the view is against people such as myself," he frowned as they watched her moved into another room.

"She is very beautiful," Godfrey said, "I could not have found you someone more suiting..."

"It is not your job to find me someone that does suit me," Yousef said plainly, "Since I saw you last in Qana I did not think you would come to my home..."

"I was curious as to see what you were like when you are not on the road," Godfrey said, "and I wanted to invite you to my estate in Ibelin, your wife seemed ecstatic at the mention of Palestine..."

"She was born there," Yousef explained, "however her father moved then a very long time ago."

Godfrey was pensive as to this fact, the younger man hesitated a bit, "What is it?" he asked.

"I am to travel with the forces of Saladin," he said quietly.

"You are worried?" Godfrey asked.

Yousef turned his attention back to his wife who was now conversing with a servant, "Should anything befall me, I ask that you watch over her and my child," he said.

Godfrey looked down at his companion, "Nothing will befall you that God would not will," he said.

"I do not know what God has planned for me," Yousef said simply, "it might be written for me to die in battle."

"And it might be written for you to live until you are old and you no longer wish to live upon this earth," Godfrey said.

Yousef looked perplexed at his friend's tone, "You are trying to convince me that my fate might not be so grim?"

"Do you feel it to be grim?"

"I don't know what to feel, I have a very pregnant wife on the verge of giving birth to my son or daughter and I am about to go into the maw of the demon that is war... Saladin might be a great leader, but life and death is not in his hands..."

Godfrey looked down at Yousef, "You speak as one who has given in to death already," he stated simply.

"I do not know what to expect, It would comfort me to know that my wife and child are watched over in my absence, though God does not let anyone go without being taken care of..." Yousef looked up at Godfrey, "Can I trust you, my friend?"

Godfrey studied the young man before he nodded, "I will do what is within my power should anything befall you - God forbid..."

Yousef looked relieved, "Thank you, my friend."

Godfrey simply nodded and then he watched Sarah as she walked over to them, she clasped her hands tightly before her stomach, "I assumed you would be staying here so I have had a room prepared for you, a servant has drawn you a bath, and when you are ready Dinner will be in the courtyard..."

"May your home be the warmest," he said with a smile.

She nodded and then she left, Yousef could not help but chuckle, "She is angry at me," he said.

"She has a temper," Godfrey said with an amused smile.

"You have no idea," Yousef laughed.

Godfrey chuckled and shook his head softly.

That night Yousef walked in to the sleeping quarters he shared with his wife and he found her sitting facing a mirror brushing her hair, something she did when she was upset, she had already changed into her night-clothes and there was a fixed yet rigid expression upon her face.

"You are upset with me," he stated.

"What compels you to say so, husband?" she said gently.

He pulled her up and then he wrapped his arms around her after he gently pushed the brush out of her hand, "You are upset with me," he said as he studied her face.

"Don't look at me like that," she said as she tried to push him away.

"You know I adore you," he said.

"When you adore someone you do not keep secrets from them," she said as she broke away from him.

He laughed and wrapped his arms around her once more as he hugged her from behind, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, "I love you, my darling," he said softly.

"Why will you not tell me what you are hiding?" she asked quietly as she placed her hands over his.

He let out a pained sigh, "I can't, my love, not yet... I will someday," he promised.

"When?" she asked, "when will you tell me?"

He smiled gently, "When you are ready," he said much to her chagrin.

She let out a huff before she pulled away from him once more, "You are speaking in riddles, husband," she said as he advanced on her, she continued to keep away from him as best as he could but the humor on his face made her laugh.

"Maybe you wish to decipher my riddles?" he asked with a taunting smile.

"Stay away from me," she laughed as he neared her.

"You and I both know that you do not truly want that," he stated as he pulled her into his embrace once more.

She buried her face into his shoulder as she let him embrace her tightly, "When must you go?" she asked quietly.

"Soon," he said gently.

"Will you be here to see the birth of your son?" she asked as she looked up at him.

"You are so sure it is a son," he said with a chuckle.

"I am sure it is a son, mother intuition," she stated.

He laughed and then he shook his head before he held her at an arm's distance, "You are so beautiful," he said.

She blushed as she looked down at his chest, "As bloated as I am?" she asked.

"You are lovelier than ever," he insisted as he gently cupped her face.

She gently grabbed his hands as she let out a heavy sigh, "What am I to do without you?" she asked.

"Godfrey will be here as much as he can," he said.

She grumbled as she broke away, "Godfrey, what good will he be?"

Yousef looked a bit hesitant, "In time you will see just how good he will be," he stated simply.

"I don't want you to go away," she said quietly.

"It is for our family," he said.

"We have enough money," she insisted.

"Then it is to teach my son a lesson," he placed his hand on her swollen stomach.

She let out a sigh as she leaned into him once more before she shook her head, "You are stubborn..."

"So are you," he stated into her hair, "that is why we are a match."

She chuckled as she shook her head, "Husband, you have been reading Homer again, haven't you?"

He laughed, "I daresay Paris never loved Helen the way I love you..."

She wanted to hit him, but she supposed she would allow him to speak as sweetly as he wished.

"I am tired," she stated

He nodded and then he watched as she climbed into bed, slowly he slid in to bed beside her and he wrapped his arms around her tightly before they both drifted off to sleep.

The following morning she was to bid her husband farewell, Godfrey watched the couple from a distance, he had yet to leave the house and he hoped that when Yousef left he would not be cast out from the home.

Yousef gently cupped her face as he stared down at her, "I will return to you," he said.

"It will be two months; you must return in two months," she put her hands on her stomach, "do you promise your return?"

"I will promise my return," he said as he took her hands in his and then he kissed them. "I love you," he said softly.

"And I you," she whispered, "go, may God be with you in every step you take..."

He nodded and then he walked away to his horse that awaited him patiently, he jumped up into the saddle before he waved to her and left.

* * *

And there you have it, notes? Comments? don't hesitated to leave them.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own KoH, also aside from the story-line you will find I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible...

* * *

Godfrey watched the young woman as she sewed, she had yet to cast him out from her home; he could tell she was being patient and courteous. A young man he had not noticed before stood beside him, "What interest have you in my sister?" he asked.

"Your sister?" he asked.

"I am Omar, I only arrived this morning," he stated as he studied Godfrey with a keen gaze, unlike his sister who had green eyes that reminded Godfrey of the spring, this young man had dark brown eyes that were almost black, and his hair was just as dark.

"Where did you arrive from?" he asked.

"Damascus, I am a merchant, often I try to linger here when my sister's husband is away," Omar explained, "I have never seen you around here..."

"I am a friend of Yousef's," Godfrey said, not willing to elaborate much since the younger man had refused to tell his own wife about the true nature of their relationship.

"A friend would not linger in the house of the friend's wife," Omar said.

"Arab customs," Godfrey said.

Omar studied Godfrey a final time before he left him, the Knight watched as he embraced his sister warmly and words were exchanged between them, from where he stood he could not hear them. He could see the brother look to him and Godfrey had a feeling that he would not be allowed to linger there much longer.

Sarah turned to her brother, "Semblance?" she asked quietly.

"How could you not see it, sister?" he asked.

"I do not make it a habit to stare at strange men," she whispered.

"Yousef and this... Godfrey... Bear a strong semblance to one another, the eyes - the height -"

"Yousef is not that tall -"

"Yousef is that tall, and there is something about him - what if..."

"No," she said, "Yousef's father was Syrian -"

Omar rolled his eyes, "But he died when Yousef was a baby, I do not ever recall a time meeting his father..."

Sarah frowned, "You are right..." she said quietly.

"Of course I am," he stated simply.

She was about to say something but she clutched at her stomach, "Omar," she whispered.

He caught her by her arms before she fell, "What is it?" he asked.

"I -" she winced in pain before she let out a pained cry, "the baby - there is - the baby!"

"It is too soon," he said sounding panicked.

"I don't know -" she let out a yell.

Godfrey had been walking away when he heard the cry for help, he quickly ran to the source and found Sarah clutching to her stomach, her brother yelling out for help, and there was blood pooled around her feet.

Quickly he ran over to them and with great ease he scooped up the woman, "Direct me to her bed-chambers," he said as Servants began to frantically run about as their Lady cried out in immense pain.

Omar led Godfrey through the home to a room that he burst in to, Godfrey placed the crying woman upon the bed, "Does she have a physician?" Godfrey asked as he moved around the servants that pulled the blankets back.

"He is on the way," Omar said, "she is too early - that blood - all that blood -"

"Pray that your sister is unharmed," Godfrey said as he watched a physician and an aged woman run in, the pair was ushered out of the room to leave the Mid-wife and the Physician to do what it is they were supposed to do.

"It would figure that the day my idiot brother-in-law leaves something should happen to her," Omar said with a pale face.

"It was God's will," Godfrey said.

Omar looked up at the man with a curious frown, "We really are not too different, are we?" he asked.

"We were all created equal," Godfrey responded, "the message - the same..."

Omar remained silent leaving both men to fall into deep thought. Godfrey could hear the woman within the chambers moaning out and shrieking in pain, he had seen this many times before - but never so late into a pregnancy.

He prayed for her to be unharmed, and for the child to be unharmed though he did not know if it would survive.

For hours the two men stood in utter silence, night had fallen before they heard the crying and wails died down - and a new sort of crying filled the air.

Omar looked up, "The child?"

Godfrey did not know what to say, he suddenly looked to the door as they flew open and the Physician walked out, his robes were bloody but upon his face there was a relieved smile, "Alhamdullilah, the child was unharmed," he said.

"May we see her?" Godfrey said.

The Physician nodded and he let them through, they found her propped up on many pillows, her face pale and there were tears upon her face as she held a tiny baby swaddled in white linen. The baby was no longer crying, she looked up and then she let out a watery laugh, "The baby is unharmed," she said.

Omar ran over to his sister to behold the baby, indeed it was a small child, he worried he would be frail but for now he was happy that both his sister and her child lived. He stepped back as she pressed a kiss to the top of the baby's head before Godfrey stepped forward, "May I?" he asked gently.

She hesitated a bit before she nodded, Godfrey gently picked up the baby as he gingerly stared down at it, "It is a boy," she said gently.

"What will you name him?" Omar asked.

"I intend to wait for Yousef to return before I do," she responded.

Sarah watched Godfrey for a moment and to her surprise she saw that tears seemed to glitter in the depths of his blue eyes before he returned the baby to his mother. "May he bring you pride and joy," Godfrey told her before he pressed a kiss to her forehead before he left them.

"Yousef will be so happy," Omar said gently.

"Oh how I wish it," she said simply as she studied her son with a small smile.

Godfrey walked out of the chambers and then we went to his own before he sat down on a seat, he grasped his hands together and suddenly tears ran down his face for a moment.

It was one thing to see a child born so newly, yet this child was more than just a child - this child was from his own blood.

Two months passed by quickly and before they knew it Yousef had returned; he stared up at his home and he was surprised to not see his wife run out, rather Godfrey welcomed him, "You remain?" he asked.

"I remain," he responded, "however, soon I am to meet with my company, I would not bear to leave before your return."

"Sarah - is -"

"She is well," Godfrey smiled gently, "you must see to her."

Yousef ran past him and then he headed upstairs where he burst into his bedchambers, the moment he burst in he heard sobbing and a frustrated groan.

"Sarah?" he said curiously.

She appeared from behind a screen, her hair was pulled back in a braid and she was still in her nightclothes, "Yousef," she said before she ran into his embrace, the baby's sobbing did not cease.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly and then he held her back to study her, "Look at you!"

She laughed, "I hope that is a good thing," she said with a smile.

"You are beautiful," he stated.

She blushed as she looked down and then she smiled once more, "I have someone for you to meet," she said.

"For me to meet..." he echoed as she pulled away from him and then she went behind the screen, slowly he followed and watched as she gently pulled a baby into her arms, the baby had a shock of red hair - much like his own, "is that...?" he choked out.

"Your son," she smiled as she gently walked over to him, the baby let out a coo before he settled down.

He held out his arms out gently accepted his son, big green eyes stared back up at him, he let out a laugh as tears traveled down his cheeks, "He has your eyes," he said.

"Your hair," she laughed as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Have you named him?" he asked.

"I waited for you to name him," she responded as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, "you name your son..."

He nodded and then he looked at her, "Hamzah," he said, "we will name him Hamzah."

She smiled, "A strong name," she said.

"His namesake was an even stronger man," he said.

"May he bring you the pride his namesake brought his people," she said gently.

"I know he will," Yousef said as he looked down at his wife who was still smiling up at him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before they sat down, "Oh Sarah, you do not know how happy I am..."

She smiled gently as she took her son from him, "Tell me of your travels," she said.

"We were in Damascus," he said gently, "Saladin plans to march on to Jerusalem..."

"When?" she asked.

He let out a sigh, "That I cannot answer," he stated gently.

She frowned and decided to say nothing in response. She crossed her legs as she let out a sigh, "Fine, you are allowed to keep your secrets," she said, "but you must answer me this," she looked at him.

"And that is?" he asked.

"Godfrey, what is he to you - truly?" she asked.

"Sarah -"

"No, Yousef, I have allowed him to stay because I had a creeping suspicion, and I wish for you to confirm it - is Godfrey your father?" she asked.

Yousef's expression was difficult to read as he placed his son upon the bed before he turned to his wife, "What response could I give you that would satisfy you?" he asked.

"The truth," she said.

He looked at her, "Sarah -"

"He cried when Hamzah was born, Yousef - the look of someone who was full of pure joy - it was as if he was looking down at his own son!"

"Sarah -"

"Yousef," she said as she got up, "I let him live here, Omar let him live here - please let me at least know that whatever suspicion I had might be true."

He let out a sigh as he turned away from her, "I did not want to tell you for fear that you would think of my mother in an ill fashion," he said quietly.

"I could not think ill of your mother," she responded.

"She was young," he began quietly, "and she met Godfrey..." he hunched his shoulders, "he was a young knight, and you know how the Christian knights are... My mother - she loved him... and somehow he was able to get what he wanted from her..." he hesitated, "When I was born... They were both filled with guilt... and he found someone for her to wed once he was gone..."

"Godfrey is your father," she said with a stunned whisper.

"Yes, he is my father," he nodded.

"But your mother - she never -" she spoke up.

"When they had learned of her..." he paused and then his expression was difficult to read, "Sin," he hissed, "she was shunned and no man would marry her..."

"Yousef..." she whispered as she got up.

"Godfrey - found me when we first wed," he explained, "at first I wanted nothing to do with him - but he had saved me from a particularly difficult situation - and I was indebted to him... We traveled together - and soon I forgave him for his mistakes..."

"Then you are his heir?" she asked.

"I am not his eldest," he said.

"He was married?" she asked.

"He was unmarried," he replied.

Sarah didn't know what to make of this, to learn that Godfrey had been the kind to 'know' women he was not married to, it was preposterous, and yet he was there - and she found that he did bear a semblance to the Knight. "He is your father," she said gently.

He nodded and looked down at his son, "He is my father..."

She stood up and then she wrapped her arms around him as she pressed her face into his back, "You will bathe," she said gently, "and then I shall have dinner prepared for us where you will dine with him - and you will call him Father."

He gently pulled her to face him as he grabbed her chin and softly he made her look up, "You, wife, are..." he let out a sigh as he shook his head.

"Yes, I know I am amazing," she said with a laugh.

"Amazing does not even describe it," he said as he kissed her forehead.

She smiled before she patted his chest, "Go, bathe, and I will see to dinner..."

"And my son?" he asked as she began to walk away.

She laughed gently, "He is your son," she said before she walked away.

He had never been happier to be home in his life.

Sarah walked out into the courtyard where Godfrey was pacing, he smiled upon seeing her but then he realized she was lacking her headscarf so he turned, she stood with her hands clasped together, "You are the father of my Husband," she said, "the grandfather of my son," she studied him for a while, "therefore you are my father as well," she said.

He turned to look at her as she held out her hand, "For once dine in the home of your son - and not the home of your friend."

He gently grasped her hand and she smiled as she turned his hand over before she pressed a kiss to it and then she pressed his hand to her forehead. "You are in the home of your son," she said.

Godfrey did not know what to make of this, he had seen the habits and customs of Arabs; this was something utterly new. She smiled up at him before she walked off, she called to the servants who rushed to her and then she spoke to them before they ran off again.

This woman had not ceased to amaze him since he first arrived to the home.

* * *

And there you have it, notes? Comments? don't hesitated to leave them.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own KoH, also aside from the story-line you will find I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible...

* * *

Yousef continued to travel, and Godfrey often frequented the home of his son, though his search for his eldest continued. Years went by and little Hamzah grew, his premature birth did not leave him without defect - Sarah found - for he was just a little deaf in his left ear yet despite that he was mischievous and often he was found running about the house, much to his mother's delight.

By the time he was five years of age he already had his own collection of scars and bruises, and none of the servants could keep up with him, often his mother could barely keep up with him.

It was one particular day she sat wiping jam off his mouth, "Hamzah, I told you to keep out of the desserts," she said as she wiped at his face.

He giggled as his eyes glittered with mischief, she shook her head and then he flung his arms around her neck as he hugged his mother tightly, "You are so lucky I love you, my darling," she said into his tiny shoulder.

He giggled and sat back, "Mama, want to see my drawing?"

She was worried where the drawing was but she nodded, "Show me," she said.

He jumped out of her embrace and then he grabbed her hand and ran off to his room, she saw on the tiles there was a massive drawing, she paled, "Oh, darling, it's lovely," she said as he smiled up at her proudly.

"I can't wait to show baba!" he said.

She smiled as she crouched down and he flung himself into her embrace once more, she smoothed back his fiery hair as she studied his face, a dimple appeared in his left cheek as he grinned up at her, "I love you so much my darling..." she said.

He giggled as she picked him up and she began to walk out of the room, suddenly she heard noises at the main gate of their home. She frowned curiously as she let her son down and she grabbed his hand before they walked out, "Grandpa!" Hamzah cried out happily as Godfrey appeared, he grabbed the boy and he picked him up as he placed a kiss upon his cheek, "What is it?" she asked, "you said you would not return before -"

"It's Yousef," he said suddenly.

Something in the pit of her stomach felt like lead, "What happened?"

"There was a battle..." he said, "Yousef - was badly injured... We brought him here as soon as we could -" she saw Godfrey's Knights carrying a stretcher with Yousef upon it, she quickly put a headscarf on before she admitted them further into the house, Godfrey had bid Hamzah to play in his room until they told him to come out again and the boy happily obeyed.

"To our bedchambers," Sarah said as she led them further into the house. They obeyed as they carried him into the room, "Was the battle with Saladin?" she asked.

"No," one of Godfrey's men said, "he was traveling with us and we came upon some Templars..."

"But you are Knights! Godfrey is a Baron!"

"And in the eyes of the Templars, your husband is nothing more than a Saracen..." Godfrey said, "do not forget how delicate being from Cordoba is..."

She nodded as she sat at her Husband's side, he was pale and unconscious, slowly she peeled back the covers to reveal soiled bandages, gently she peeled them back to assess the damage and what she saw made her gasp, "God above..." she whispered quietly.

"I will tend to him, my Lady," the Hospitaller Knight said, Sarah had met all of Godfrey's men before, and she knew them all well.

She nodded, "Anything you need you will have it," she said as she grasped his hand and she pressed a kiss to it, "what happened?"

"Guy DeLusignian," Godfrey said in response.

She nodded as she looked at the Hospitaller, "I must see to my son," she said, "my staff is at your disposal..."

"You are very kind, my Lady..." he said.

"My Husband's life is in your hands," she said before she got up and she walked out of the room, Godfrey walked out of the room with her as they went to find Hamzah.

Hamzah was sitting on the floor of his room as he played with little toys, Godfrey walked in and saw the drawing before he turned to his grandson, Sarah sat down and she looked like she was about to weep but she kept a strong front for her son who jumped up into her arms, "Mama, I want to see Baba..."

"Not at this moment, dear one," she said softly.

He frowned, "But why?"

She smoothed his hair back, "He is sleeping," she said quietly, "we must not wake him..."

He nodded and then he looked at Godfrey who smiled at him gently, Sarah watched her son play with his toys, all the while grief and worry gripped at her heart.

Godfrey placed a hand upon her shoulder as they continued to sit in silence, "God tests those he loves," he said to the woman.

"I know," she whispered, "often I wonder if we are loved, what with my son's deafness which I am told will grow as he does – or now my bedridden husband on the doors of death…" she frowned, "am I now allowed to have peace of mind?"

Godfrey moved his hand to grasp hers tightly, her pale fingers wrapped tightly around his sun-worn hand, "I will remain for as long as you need me to," he said.

"Do you not have duty in Jerusalem?" she asked.

"I will remain for as long as you need me to," he repeated firmly.

She nodded and they continued to watch Hamzah play, "If he dies – I will never forgive Guy DeLusignian," she muttered.

"Would you seek revenge?" Godfrey asked.

"No," she said, "I would not… though…" she frowned, "I do not know what I would do…"

Once night had fallen and Hamzah was put to sleep Sarah moved to her Husband's side, he was still pale, and it seemed that he had taken a fever. The Hospitaller looked up at her as she grasped Yousef's hand, "What news?" she asked quietly.

"… His marrow has seeped into the blood," he responded, "His fever is merely the start…"

She fought back tears as she pressed her husband's hand to her mouth, "He will die?" she asked.

"I am sorry, my Lady," he said morosely.

"You have done all you could," she responded softly, "I will ask no more of you… I bid you to rest, Hospitaller, you may call in the house Physician; he will tend to my husband as he dies…" her hands quivered as she spoke though her manner was firm, "how long will he be with us?" she asked finally.

"… The most one week," he replied honestly, "though – he is in bad shape…"

She nodded, "I understand," she said, "speak not of this to my son – if he asks, tell him simply that his father is resting…"

"My Lady –"

"Just do as I say," she told everyone in the room, "he does not need to know of this…"

"And when his father passes?"

She said nothing in response; she simply continued to stare at her slumbering husband as he fought off both fever and pain all the while he succumbed further and further to death.

"Shall I call in for anyone else?" Hospitaller asked.

"Send in for the Baron, please," she said quietly.

He nodded and then left with the rest of his men, Godfrey walked in; "Sarah?" he asked.

"Your son is on death's bed, my Lord," she said gently.

His face fell, "How long?"

"Hospitaller says at the most a week, but only God truly knows…" she murmured as the house physician walked in.

Godfrey placed a hand upon her head, "I will pray for him," he said.

"Stay with us," she said quietly.

"And your son?" asked Godfrey when he sat beside her.

"Fortunately – he is too young to understand grief and despair…" she whispered against her husband's cold hand. Even now his life seemed to be leaving his body like water from a well.

That night Sarah was widowed, her husband died as God's angels take his soul into the after-life where he would receive Judgment. The people to attend his burial were many, all broken hearted and pained – but none as much as his wife who carried her wailing son who watched the body of his father that was swaddled in white be lowered into the earth before men buried him.

When condolences had been given, three days of a man reading out of the Quran, women making coffee, and Hamzah asking for his father, Sarah found herself some peace. She sat at the fountain in their courtyard, her feet were in the water and her skirts were pulled to her knees, her black shawl lazily rested upon her head.

Godfrey sat beside her, "I am exhausted," she muttered, "and the world cannot carry my grief… Spain grows small…"

"Then come with me," he said gently, "to where the men speak another language and you are closer to God…"

"Nay, my lord, God is close to you everywhere we go…" she said before she looked at him, her face was pale and her expression hollow.

"I wish not to leave you," he said.

She managed a small smile, nothing more but a delicate tilt of the lips, "I would not want you to leave, but you are a baron, and I am the widow of your bastard…" she said simply.

"The widow of my son," he corrected, "I go to Jerusalem," he said, "the land where wars are fought in the name of God…"

She looked away, "Those wars are fought in every kingdom," she stated. "But I will go with you, Spain no longer feels like home – not without the man who made it so…"

Godfrey nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead before he rose to his feet. She watched as he left, she decided she would go with Godfrey; perhaps her fortune would improve in the Holy Land.

She could remember a time when she lived in Jerusalem, she wondered if her childhood home was still there or had it been turned into something else, perhaps demolished to be used as something else.

Her decision had been made, she would go to Jerusalem; she would go with Godfrey, the man she now thought of as father. That evening as they sat together in solemn dinner Sarah spoke up, "I will go with you," she said.

He studied her, her once vibrant face still empty and he prayed that perhaps the journey would give her some life – if anything new hope.

"We will leave in the morning," he told her, "you must pack lightly and smartly… Once in Jerusalem I will buy you the finest dresses and silks…"

"You are kind, my Lord, I have no desire for such things, however… will my son…" she hesitated, her son's partial deafness was always in the forefront of her mind, shaping her decisions and actions – she did not know how he would take to a journey such as this.

"My men and I will ensure that no harm comes to him, the child is of my blood as well," he confirmed.

She nodded with a small relieved sigh before they finished their meal in silence. She dismissed herself and she withdrew to her quarters with her son at her hip, "We will travel with your grandfather," she said softly.

"Where?" he asked.

"To the land I was born in," she responded, "go to sleep…"

"But mama, I want to play…"

"Play will come later," she tucked him in, "when you see the doves of the Holy Land, where the prophet ascended to meet God – where domes are made of gold and walls of turquoise," she pressed a kiss to his forehead before she hummed. As she hummed he succumbed to sleep, she then stood up and from the trunk beneath her bed she pulled out leather packs that would attach to her saddle; she would ride on her gray mare Riyah. She opened her wardrobe and from it she pulled out two fine dresses, the two she would wear in Jerusalem, carefully she wrapped them before she put them in one of the packs, she then found a plain brown dress, it had neither detail nor decoration. She put it aside; with it she placed riding tights and a white under-dress as well as a Headscarf. She then began to pack various things before she packed for her son.

In the courtyard Godfrey and the Hospitaller watched the fountain bubble in the lamp-light, "Do you think it wise, my lord, to bring Sarah?"

Godfrey let out a heavy sigh, "I would listen to counsel advising against it, but I cannot simply leave her…"

"Or your grandchild," he continued with a light smile.

Godfrey smiled gently, "Or my grandchild," he confirmed.

"Where do you intend to go?"

"France," responded Godfrey, "I must see my brother, and before Jerusalem – I have forgiveness to seek there…"

The Hospitaller thought his Lord was being cryptic, however he remained tactfully quiet. Godfrey noticed, "What is it, my friend?"

He respectfully shook his head, "I will alert the others to our companion," he said, "though I do not doubt they will not be welcoming," he bowed and then walked off. Godfrey was left to ponder his decision, he thought of the widow that had been the wife of his illegitimate son, the woman who was now grieving yet she did not shed a tear when she knew people expected her to. His only worry was the unsavory characters they were bound to meet upon the road, those who would see her as nothing more than a Saracen.

The next morning, in the pale cold light the staff of the house watched their Lady as she stood in a plain brown dress that was not special, not for a lady of her status, a plain scarf upon her head, and a braided brown belt was about her hips – to it she had buckled the sword of her deceased husband. "I will leave to Jerusalem," she said as Godfrey joined them, a slumbering Hamzah rested in the arms of his Lord grandfather, "The house – you may sell it, you may keep it, you are free to do what you will – this is my gift to you, I leave you my wealth, I leave you my home, and I leave you my love…" she had known these people for many years, they tended to her gardens, made her food, washed her clothes, watched over her when she was ill, and loved her when she could not love herself.

The cook, a portly woman with gray hair and a white shawl loosely wrapped about her head, walked over to Sarah before she grabbed her hand and she pressed a kiss to it. Sarah was stunned, she tried to pull her hand away but soon everyone – man and woman – respected the lady of their house and wished her farewell, those that spoke Arabic uttered tearful words of prayer, and those who did not still prayed in whatever fashion they did. Her green eyes were glassy and the edges of her eyes were red from unshed tears before she bowed to them all and she thanked them for their patience and their love, she then stood straight and she walked out with the Knights. Their horses were waiting for them, all snorting impatiently and pawing at the road beneath them, their breath floated like mist in the cool air before Odo, one of Godfrey's men, helped Sarah onto her horse after she had removed the sword and she had fastened it to the saddle. She thanked the large German before she took her son from Godfrey and she arranged her fur-lined cloak about him to protect him from the weather. Lightly she reached down to touch the pummel of the sword, she could feel it beneath her left knee; if they ran into trouble she would be able to reach for it with her right.

Godfrey nodded and then then all rode out into the dim morning, the road was long ahead of Sarah, this she did not doubt. But some small voice in her heart told her that she would not regret leaving.

She took a last look at her home before she looked ahead and she pulled the hood of her cloak up. She muttered prayers, about her wrist were Jade prayer beads her Yousef had made in China when he visited last, she took comfort in the silver tassel as it hit her wrist and it reminded her to pray to God in her heart.

For days they traveled, Hamzah did not complain much, in fact the child seemed to be enjoying the fact he was traveling with so many men and horses. Sarah was often silent, she found no need to speak save for when she had to silence her son. They did not find trouble on the road and for that she was grateful.

One evening they made camp by a stream, Firuz, the dark-skinned Knight who seemed to follow the teachings of Islam as well, watched over Hamzah as the boy explored his surroundings. Sarah walked with Odo and they both carried wet fabric, "I do not understand the need for wine," she said, "it stains, it turns men into scoundrels, and God forbids it."

He chuckled, "It might be so," he stated, "but we cannot help that it warms our limbs."

She said nothing as they walked to the camp and she began to hang the clothes on a line stretched from a tree to a tent, she knew they would not dry before they had to leave once more, she hoped it would help a bit, especially as the Hospitaller built a small fire beneath them to dry them quickly.

She saw that Godfrey was pacing, "You are tense, my lord," she said as she joined him, her cloak was bundled up inside her tent and the hem of her humble dress was starting to tear from the riding and the woods. "Are we late?"

"What would we be late for?" he questioned.

"I do not know the affairs of Lords and their schedules," she stated as she sat on a log, Riyah was beside a tree with the other horses and they all grazed.

Suddenly, he looked to her, "Sarah, can you fight?" he asked.

She frowned, the question had not caught her off guard, but for some reason while it was paired with his apprehensive expression is set the widow on edge. "I can, M'lord," she stated, "why do you ask?"

"Arm yourself," he said and suddenly he was swinging his sword at her.

She rolled to the side and the Hospitaller was on his feet, "My lord – wait –"

"A Templar will not wait," Godfrey said as he made to attack Sarah again, she scrambled into her tent and when she emerged once more her husband's sword was drawn in her hands and there was a loud clang as their blades locked. Sarah looked up at Godfrey, "I was the only daughter among sons," she said, "I was taught to fight…" she let out an 'Oomph' when his leg met her knee and it sent her flying back into her tent, she got up despite the stinging in her backside and her knee before she barreled into him, Firuz and Hamzah joined them while the two sparred. The woman obviously had a hard time keeping up with the Lord because she kept finding herself backed into tents or trees, all the while the Hospitaller tried to get them to stop. Eventually Godfrey let up and Sarah was huffing and puffing, she had a bleeding cut on her cheek and she was sitting with her hands on her knees. The Hospitaller was fussing over her cut, "Have I proven my worth, my Lord?" she said, her voice was raspy and loud – as if she were trying to control it.

"Your worth was never in doubt, child," he told her, "but you have proved your mettle."

"These will require sutures," the Hospitaller said.

Sarah studied Godfrey as he walked over to Hamzah and he picked him up, "You should be proud of your mother," he said.

Hamzah threw his arms around Godfrey's neck before Sarah brushed the Hospitaller off and she went to fix her tent before she vanished inside it.

Hamzah slowly walked into the tent to find his mother cleaning the cut in a mirror and slowly she held a needle above a flame, "Mama?"

"Don't worry, my darling," she said gently before she propped the mirror up and she threaded the needle, "Look away…"

He obeyed and once he was not looking she sutured her own cheek, once she was done she bound it and she grabbed her son and walked out, the men nodded to her before she sheathed her husband's sword.

"That blade is too big for you," said Godfrey, "you can wield it, but it ruins your footwork…"

Yousef was not much taller than her, and she was not short – unlike many of her cousins Sarah had turned into a woman that was tall, and her brothers had made her strong. But he was right, the blade was not meant for her, it did not feel like an extension of her arm, it felt like a sword that she needed to use, not a sword she was meant to use.

She grabbed the wet rag from Odo and gently she wiped at her own face, "In France I will find you a blacksmith," he continued, "and a proper sword will be issued."

She nodded silently. He reached out and brushed the sutures, "I will not apologize," he told her firmly.

She looked at him, "My lord, why would you apologize for my moment of hesitation?"

He sat back and frowned; she got up and once again vanished into the tent with her son in her arms.

* * *

And there you have it, notes? Comments? don't hesitated to leave them.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own KoH, also aside from the story-line you will find I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible...

* * *

Days later they were finally in France, snow was falling and Sarah's hood was up, the fur kept any of the snowflakes from falling into her eyes. Hamzah was tightly wrapped in her cloak; his face peeked out from the folds so he could watch the world. The squire had gone ahead of them to clear the road and that is when she spotted the burial at the cross in the fork of the road. "I do not understand," she said to the Hospitaller who rode beside her.

"A suicide," he explained, "unmarked, they will behead her – treat her like a witch…"

"This cannot be your laws," she said with a horrified expression.

He shook his head, "Not our pope, but the diseased minds of those who take the word of God and bend it to their will," he explained.

"I will never understand the Christians," she said quietly.

"And we will never understand the Muslims," he responded with a kind smile. Sarah sees the Priest and his men, one dared a glance up and beheld her, she could almost hear him cry 'Saracen' as she passed by; she hid her son in the folds of her cloak before they pressed on. Godfrey seemed to be lost in some kind of memory as they rode into the village, "You know this place, my lord?" asked the Hospitaller.

"I knew all of it," he said.

They arrived to the Manor and they were welcomed, Sarah handed Hamzah to Odo, "I wish to return to that fork in the road," she said.

"My Lord Godfrey –"

"Will understand," she said gently, "I will not be long," she promised before she left. She walked down the path, her light boots crunched gravel beneath her feet as she took in her surroundings, she found herself at the stone cross, her beads were now in her hands and she noticed a mean bent at the foot of the cross, the Priest was beside him, speaking to him harshly, when he struck the man he spoke, "You turn the other cheek. Do you think you are Jesus Christ?"

"I think Christ would commend him for holding his tongue when you slight him so," she spoke in what French she did know.

Both men looked to her, the Priest seemed to be terrified of her so he ran off, she was unfazed before she joined the man and she sat beside him, "Was she your wife?" she asked gently.

He did not respond, but she could tell that indeed she had been, she nodded, "My husband is also with God," she said, "I will pray for her, what was her name?"

"Marie," he said quietly.

She nodded, "Then I shall keep her in my prayers," she stared up at the cross, "I will never understand the Christians," she said gently before she got up and she walked away.

She returned to the castle and was met with the Hospitaller who had a small smile on his face, "I met the husband of that woman," she said quietly, "the Priest…" she frowned.

"Not all men uphold the word of God…"

She nodded and he held out his arm for her, together they walked into the castle and she was lead off into a room so she could change into one of the fine dresses she had brought with her after she bathed in a copper tub.

She joined them in the dining hall where the Lord stood to his feet and bowed, she curtsied before they sat down once more, "I hear tell that you are the wife of my brother's bas –" Godfrey shot him a look and the man looked apologetic and yet not quite so, as if he was masterful with appearances, "I am sorry for your loss, my Lady."

"It was his time," she said quietly.

He snapped his fingers and muttered something to one of the servants who rushed about and set before them lamb, the spiced wine was kept away from Sarah and instead she was given orange juice, "Our lands are famed for their citruses," he said.

"I do not doubt it," she responded cordially.

Sarah could feel eyes upon her, she looked up to see a man who did not look much older than the man she met at the Crossroads and he was studying her with a lecherous stare, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat while she tried to focus on her dinner. Godfrey was deep in thought and to Sarah's right the Hospitaller was speaking to the Lord of the Village, "And what of Jerusalem?"

"In peril, my lord. As always," Sarah did not comment as those words were spoken, in her gut there was a dull ache, the people of her Faith were seen as the enemy, and yet history did not record the scores of Muslim blood lost when Jerusalem was first won by the Christians. Sarah had no quarrel with any Christian, it was not her father, nor her grandfather that witnessed the fall of Jerusalem, and it only left a bitter taste in her mouth when they were called 'Saracen' it made it seem like they were Barbaric.

"We have stood there against the Saracens for almost a hundred years," the Lord spoke, Sarah looked up at him a bit sharply; she found she did not like this man or his unsavory son.

The Hospitaller shifted in his seat, "The Saracens, as you call them, have now unified in Egypt, Syria and all Arabia…" he paused, "The Saracens have someone... new."

The unsavory son spoke up, "Saladin. Their king," he said as if the Crusades were some sort of sport to be enjoyed.

"Yes. Salah Ad-din," said the Hospitaller as he tried to perfect the language as much as he could.

A belch made Sarah clench her fist, "Gibberish," spoke the Lord.

Sensing Sarah's discomfort and anger the Hospitaller held up the goblet he was drinking out of, "Very fine."

"Do you mean, Hospitaler, that it is very fine for such a poor place?" spoke the unsavory son.

Odo, with Hamzah in his lap, looked up Sarah had no doubt that he would fight this man – even with her precious child in his lap.

"I mean that it is very fine," said the Hospitaller.

"And yet you do not drink. A knight should be a knight, a monk a monk, not both at once, that is what I say," he said, "the Lady was pardoned for being a Saracen –"

She got up suddenly, walked over to Odo, grabbed her son, and then she stormed off to the rooms she had been given.

That night Sarah tucked Hamzah in, in his hands he had a small crudely made doll that Odo had made, "Who is that?" she asked softly.

"Baba," he said.

"Oh?" she asked with a small smile.

He nodded, "He wants to go with us," he responded.

"Of that I am sure," she pressed a kiss to his forehead, "sleep…"

He curled up on his side and soon she knew he had fallen into slumber. She removed her scarf and she began to undress, when she had changed into a simple white night-dress she heard someone moving in the sitting room or the chambers. Curiously she walked out, thinking perhaps Godfrey had stopped to speak to her, instead she found the lecherous son of the lord. She made to dash into the room but she felt a painful tugging on her hair and the wind was knocked out of her lungs as her back met the wall. His hand, rough and massive, clamped painfully over her mouth and she could smell his putrid breath. It smelled of wine and meat, terror tore through her core when she saw him smirk, "Squeal," he said and his other hand grabbed at her neck, her mind flew to her son – slumbering but perhaps he would not wake to the noise. She had heard stories of women being violated by intoxicated men, but the clarity in his eyes was terrifying and she realized he was not doing this because he had wine; he was doing this because of what she was.

She could feel him try to crush her throat as she desperately scrabbled for anything to protect herself, she scratched at his hands – unable to scream she suddenly remembered all those texts her husband used to pour over, in what felt like her last moment of breath she was suddenly reminded of the points in the body – when hit – would render a man in momentary shock. Suddenly her fingers dug into the wrist of the hand on her neck, he let out a gasp of shock and pain, and in his moment of distraction she grabbed his hand and she twisted it, she heard a pop in his elbow and he let out a pained cry before she found a letter opener, not sharp – but it thrust hard enough she knew it would puncture his neck.

His cried of agony called for Firuz, whom she knew was right across from her room; Godfrey soon followed and the man was removed from the room.

Soon all that was left in the room was Godfrey and Sarah, for the first time since Yousef's death a sob crept out of her bruised throat, overwhelmed and in pain Sarah fell to her knees and she pressed her hands to her face and she wept. The Baron sat down before and wrapped comforting arms around her, she had tried to hold in her frustration, her anger, and her pain since the death of her husband – but now fear and physical pain had brought out all that grief and sorrow and she could not stop weeping.

Godfrey did not speak, he listened as she wept until she wandered into slumber, and silently he carried her and placed her in the bed beside her son. She curled up around Hamzah before Godfrey nodded and he left them alone.

When it was morning Sarah woke up to Hamzah curiously studying her, "Mama, why are you hurt?" he asked.

She managed a smile, "I had an accident," she said before she sat up and she got them both dressed, instead of breakfast with the lord they left with their horses to the Blacksmith, all the horses needed re-shoeing and Godfrey wanted to have a sword issued for Sarah.

They walked into the humble smithy as they treated with the Blacksmith. Or as Sarah knew him – the man at the Crossroads, Hamzah clung to his mother as they both studied this new place. Sarah felt safe surrounded by unfinished metal things and the smell of hot iron and hay filled the air, she paused when she beheld a rafter that was carved, 'Nemo vir est qui mundum non reddat meliorem.'

She could not help but smile, 'What man is a man who does not make the world better,' she could not recall when she last saw someone who had those kinds of ideals and values. So rare it was, she did not think that Yousef thought like that, he wanted to help, but she did not think that he – as one man – could do much to bring change.

"You are an armorer. An artificer. According to your lord, and this priest. Have you a woman here?" she heard Odo speak, she looked over and saw them outside, the Priest was speaking as he kicked a small donkey while he rode it. Sarah walked over to them and she allowed Hamzah to run to Firuz who happily picked the child up.

"There is no wife. Yet the matter of women does dangle about the place," he said as the Hospitaller dismounted his horse.

"You speak as one with ill will," said Sarah before she pulled an apple out of her pocket for Riyah.

The Priest seemed as if he wanted to sneer at her but he did not retort, instead the Hospitaller spoke, "You have my sympathy and blessing and your wife's soul is today the object of my prayers." The Blacksmith bowed his head, "We need the horses shod, all, and by asking about a woman he means that we need food and will pay," he paused, "and a sword for My Lady."

His eyes turned to Sarah and she had hoped for some recognition from his haunted eyes but she received none, she turned her back on him before she joined her son and the Knight.

Later she sat studying a budding orange tree as Hamzah ran about on the frosty dirt, she was wrapped in her cloak and she reflected on the previous night, her hand went to her neck – though concealed by the fabric she knew a bruise was there, the remnants of what could have been a crushed throat.

Odo joined her with some chicken wrapped in a cloth, Hamzah ran over to them at the promise of food and she quietly declined in favor of her son, the German said nothing, instead he carried the boy away to feed him. She stared out past the orchard; she wondered what life would be like – to live simply off the land, to till the earth until her fingers were brown and her face leathery from the sun. She found herself closing her eyes to feel the weak winter sun upon her face and it brought a gentle smile to her mouth.

"My lady," one of Godfrey's men said, "you are requested at the forge…"

She nodded and opened her eyes before she stood and walked into the warmth of the smithy, she removed her cloak and saw the Blacksmith waiting. The Hospitaller sat nearby as Sarah inspected the Blacksmith, "I never asked your name, Blacksmith," she spoke while he worked on a blade.

He paused mid-stroke to look at her, "Balian," he said simply.

"I am Sarah," she said before she walked over to him and she curiously watched him forge the sword. Once he was done he hefted it in his hand and she decided that indeed it was a thing of beauty, he passed it to her and she grabbed it by the pommel. It was lighter than Yousef's sword, "This will do," she nodded, she handed him some coins before she carried the sword away and Godfrey joined them. It seemed to her that whatever Godfrey wished to speak about with Balian did not suit the Baron, especially when he walked out and they knew it was time to ride out. She handed Hamzah to the Hospitaller before she made to climb into the saddle, she felt strong hands help her into it and when she looked down she saw Balian, he suddenly looked apologetic and she realized he did not help her because he wanted – she assumed he helped her out of pure instinct, his wife was so freshly dead she was not surprised he rushed to her aide.

"Thank you," she told him before she took her son and she tucked him into the folds of her cloak once more.

Godfrey joined them upon his horse, "It is easy to find Jerusalem. You come to where the men speak Italian, and then continue until they speak something else. We go by

Messina. Goodbye."

Sarah glanced back at the Blacksmith a final time before she followed them. When they were on the road it had begun to snow once more, Godfrey had made the decision to not stay at the Manor another night, not after the struggle Sarah had. They had not told Sarah why they were not staying to avoid her guilt, his knights had agreed, they would not watch her suffer at the hand of any man.

When it was night they decided to continue riding, the moon lit their paths and they stuck to the road, it was early morning when they were stopped.

"What is it?" asked Sarah.

"Someone follows," he the Squire said.

"I will go," said Godfrey and he vanished down the road, Sarah sat for a moment before she urged Riyah forward and she followed Godfrey, she came to a halt when she found Balian on the road, bent with exhaustion and his hand was wrapped, "Have you come to kill me? Even these days, it is not easy," he was silent for a moment, "What do you want?"

"Is it true that in Jerusalem I may erase my sins, and those...of my wife. Is it true?"

"We'll find out together," said Godfrey.

Balian hesitated for a moment, "I've done murder."

Godfrey nodded, "Haven't we all… look at his hand," he told the Hospitaller as they joined them.

They made camp as the night was at its darkest and by firelight the Hospitaller and Sarah inspected Balian's hand, Hamzah was sleeping in her tent, Firuz brought him something to drink while Sarah prepared to clean the burn upon his palm, "It is the poppy which grows in the East. I think it is the true lotus that the men of Odysseus ate. It numbs all pain. A burn needs that, and butter."

"It is called Opium," she explained, "and if you are not careful you will become dependent on it," she cast the Hospitaller a warning glance, he shrugged and she opened a small jar, "My husband was a Scribe," she said gently, "yet he loved to read about the medicinal arts of the far east, we had many tomes in our home in Cardoba," she showed him a strange gel, "this is a plant that is said to help with burns, far better than butter," she glanced at the Hospitaller once more, "Honey would make do as well…"

Balian watched as she gently placed the gel into his palm, her fingers were deft and gentle, once she was done she wrapped his hand in a clean cloth, she put the jar away and left him. When morning crept upon them Balian was asleep by the dying embers of the campfire, Sarah was fixing a torn cloak while Godfrey paced and then he tossed a sword to Balian who jumped into wakefulness, "Get up," he said.

"His hand is hurt, my lord," said the Hospitaller.

"I have fought two days with an arrow through a testicle," he said and Sarah cringed before she spoke up.

"I did not need to know that, my lord," she said.

He cast her a quick smile before he swung the flat of the sword at Balian who – as quickly as he could – parried, he favored his injured hand.

Hamzah woke up to the noise and he crawled into his mother's lap as he exited the tent before he tiredly yawned and curled up into his mother, Sarah knew that Godfrey did not think Balian's stance was proper; he was talking a low guard – it was wild, strong, and dangerous. Someone refined liked Godfrey would have a stance that would defend before it attacked, "Never take a low guard. Watch," he raised his sword above his head, "Like this. This guard by the Italians is called la posta di falcone...one strikes from high," he demonstrated it, "Like this. Do it."

Balian imitated Godfrey as both men sparred once more, but he could still not best the Baron, Sarah had to duck as the sword landed inches from where her foot was.

Balian looked over at her apologetically before he pulled it out of the dirt and this time Odo stood to fight. He touched Balian's eyes, "Pay attention," he told him before he looked to Godfrey, "I have your leave?"

Godfrey sat beside Sarah who handed him from their rations, he nodded and then Odo looked to Sarah, who looked slightly taken aback.

"Does he have leave to fight before a Lady?" asked Godfrey.

She spluttered for a moment before she wrapped her arms tightly around Hamzah and she nodded, "Yes…"

Odo and Balian locked blades and they practiced while the others began to pack. Sarah handed Hamzah to the Hospitaller so she could take the tent down and she could pack her things. She noticed Firuz frown and look to the road, she grabbed one of the tent's wooden stakes so she could stow it away just as Knights joined them from between the trees, Godfrey climbed into the saddle of his horse and Odo and Balian ceased their practice, "Uncle," the unsavory man said, Sarah grabbed the stake as if she was willing to drive it into his throat and Balian noticed this, "You have with you a man, Balian, who killed a priest his brother. I am charged by both my father and the lord bishop to bring him back," he said, "and with you a Saracen who has attacked myself – I am to bring her in to face my father."

"I say he is innocent of the charge. If you say he is guilty, then we will fight, and God will decide the truth of it," said Odo, "the woman is innocent for the attempt of a violation upon her honor."

The Hospitaller looked to Godfrey's nephew, "My German friends is a close student of the law."

Balian walked past them, seemingly ready to surrender when Godfrey stopped him, "He is a murderer, and she is a temptress," the unsavory man said.

Sarah made to push the man off his horse but Godfrey stuck an arm out to stop her, the stake poised as if she really was contemplating to stab him.

"So am I. Aren't we all?" he said, "Sarah has no offense but the one you have laid upon her, I would have allowed her to kill you for the offense you have committed against her, she is under my protection… nephew." The last word he spoke acridly. More men at arms arrived and Sarah saw the Hospitaller wrap his arms protectively around the child in his arms, "Whoever dies here, you will certainly be among them," Godfrey continued.

"You are my uncle: I must give you the road," he said.

The Hospitaller handed Sarah her son, "Take Hamzah and leave," he instructed her, "do not look back."

She climbed onto Riyah and she tightly wrapped Hamzah in the folds of her cloaks before she grabbed her sword and she raced off, she knew if she went far enough down the road they would not chase after her. She would have stayed back but in the folds of her cloak trembling with terror and crying softly was something so precious she would not stand to have harmed. Her hopes were dashed when she found an armored man on a horse in her path, in his arm was a pike, "You will not fight fair?" she asked.

He did not seem like he was amused so without warning she darted off into the woods with the man in pursuit, she skirted past trees and she let out a cry when a low-hanging branch knocked her off her mare sending her flying off, her sword flew out of her hand as she curled up around her son.

They landed in a heap and she let out a cry because she had landed on a root, she got up and removed her cloak, she wrapped Hamzah in it and she put him at the base of a tree, "Do not look out," she said through the fabric, she tossed dirt and twigs on it until it looked like a stone – a shivering stone, but a stone none-the-less. "We are playing hide and seek, you must cover your ears darling," she said gently. She kissed the cloak before she darted out and she frantically looked for the sword, she found it glinting in the snow and dirt just as the sound of hooves approached her, she dove for the weapon and the pike barely missed her head. She was on her feet and her weapon was poised as he charged at her again, she ducked and yelled, "Fight fair!"

"I will not fight fair with filth," was the response, she grabbed a stone and she threw it at the horse, it reared and tossed him off, the shock had caused him to drop the pike and she took the opportunity to seize it, he drew his sword once he regained his breath and balance and he charged at her, she parried his blow with the pike before she swiped at him with her sword, he ducked and grabbed the pike with his left hand, he yanked her forward and she brought her sword down on his arm, he let out a cry but the hit did not sink through his armor, he let go and with a quick thrust she drove the pike into his gut just as Balian found her. The man fell and he began to try gurgled swear and cries, she stepped back, almost as if she could not believe what she had done.

He found the trembling boy and the pair walked away from the dying man, she found Riyah by a tree and she grabbed the mare by her reins before she lead her off.

When they found the others the campsite looked like a battle-field, Hamzah was still wrapped in the cloak and Sarah saw that Godfrey was favoring one of his sides. Firuz, Odo, and various other men of Godfrey's company were dead and Sarah mourned them. A man was at his knees and he spoke, "I am the son of Roger de Cormier. I am accorded the privilege of ransom," Godfrey did not feel like treating with anyone, it was obvious when the Sergeant in their company slit his throat.

"Take Hamzah away from here," Godfrey told Sarah, "set camp," he spoke silently enough so that his partially deaf grandson could not hear through the folds of the cloak. "We will join you…"

"You are injured," she said when she noticed how heavily his side was bleeding.

"Do as I told you, Sarah," he said.

She nodded and led her horse away, when she had gone a decent distance up the road she deemed it to be safe to make camp, she set up a tent, she doubted she would get any sleep that night, she set Hamzah in the tent and built a fire. She stood up when they arrived and Godfrey was taken into the tent so that the Hospitaller could look him over.

Sarah and Balian helped the others and the mourned the dead, they were beckoned into the tent to join Godfrey and the Hospitaller, Hamzah watched Godfrey with wide eyes, "The bolt is broken off and cannot be cut out. If your ribs are broken the marrow may enter the blood. You will take a fever and die, or a cyst will form and you will live. You are in the hands of God," terror suddenly cut through Sarah's core like an icy knife.

"Godfrey," she said quietly, "would you leave me like your son has?"

"Not if I can fight it," he said before he placed a hand upon Hamzah's head. He then looked to Balian, "It was not that they had no right to take you. It was the way they asked –" he coughed and broke off before he took a sip of wine.

"They had right to take me," said Balian quietly.

"So do I," said Godfrey.

Sarah covered Godfrey with a blanket and he nodded before they left him, they sat outside and Hamzah wept in her arms, he was hungry, tired, and Sarah wished she could give him a nice warm bath. They sat side-by-side on a log facing the fire, "What does his son have to do with you?" he asked.

She hesitated, "My husband was Godfrey's son," she said before she made a face, "Not by marriage…"

"Ah," he stated before he glanced at her face and noticed the sutures on her face that were healing, they had always been there – since they first met, but now her face was pale with exhaustion and fear that made them stand out on her face.

"I go to Jerusalem," she said, "because Cordoba did not feel like home anymore…" she frowned, "If Godfrey dies… I do not think…" she trailed off into silence.

When it was morning they had to leave, their road would be long, even longer than anticipated now that Godfrey was injured.

They travelled for days until they were at what appeared to be a crossroads, there were people – Pilgrims – from every land, a Priest stood among the crowds and he was yelling, "To kill an infidel, the Pope has said, is not murder. It is the path to heaven," he said and Sarah hid her son from view, the air was not as cold as in France so she had abandoned her cloak and Hamzah was no longer wrapped in furs. Many regarded her oddly, some spat at the path as she walked on, and others called her filth, a Saracen.

"I thought Christ's teachings were of love and compassion," she said.

"So did Muhammad," the Hospitaller said, "but seldom do men listen to the teachings of their Prophets…"

She nodded her agreement before she flicked the reins and Riyah came to a trot so she could catch up with Balian and the wagon that pulled Godfrey.

When they made stop to rest and Sarah found a place to preform her midday prayers she could hear someone speaking to their group, once she had finished she saw a man with long greasy hair and an air of self-importance, "Who is this?" he spoke with a sneer.

"My son," he gestured to Balian, "and the widow of another son of mine…" he did not sound like one guilty of his sins, but proud of what the sins he had committed had brought him.

"Would I had fought you when you were still capable of making bastards," he sounded amused and Sarah did not find this man to be of kind countenance.

"I knew your mother when she was making hers," said Godfrey, "Fortunately; you are too old to be one of mine."

The man did not seem pleased and it looked to Sarah that he was ready to attack the dying Baron but refrained when he saw the Hospitaller and their Sergeant joining them.

"All will be settled," he said with an ill-favored glance at the curious trio. Within days they had arrived to Messina and Godfrey was taken to a Hospital where he would be tended to. A Matron had tended to Sarah and Hamzah before she was given a new simple blue dress and a fresh cloth for her head. Sarah realized that in Messina there was more of a diverse culture, Muslim and Christian alike. She wrapped a navy cloak about her shoulders before she grabbed her son and she joined Balian, "I would not disagree to spending a lifetime in this city," she declared. Balian was leaning on the rail of the balcony they stood upon and he nodded, "Godfrey?" she asked.

"He is in the hands of God," he stated, he then looked at her, "Your husband was… my brother?" he asked.

She nodded and studied him for a moment, "You look nothing like him," she admitted, "he had Godfrey's eyes, and red hair – very red hair," she smiled gently as she recalled Yousef, "I do not doubt that you would have liked him," she continued.

"Balian, Sarah," they heard Godfrey call for them, Sarah set her son down before the two adults joined the dying Baron. "Do you know what lies in the Holy Land? Not what the Church says, but what does lie there?"

Balian did not know how to answer so Godfrey looked to Sarah who seemed to not wish to answer, "A new world," he said, "A man who in France had not a house is in the Holy Land the master of a city. He who was the master of a city begs in the gutter. There are the end of the world you are not what you were born, but what you have it in yourself to be."

"I hope to find forgiveness there. That is all I know," Balian spoke softly.

Godfrey seemed as if he wished to cough, his body seized with pain and he groaned, "Whatever your position, and that I will decide, you are of my house, and that means you will serve the King of Jerusalem…"

Balian seemed baffled, "What might a king ask of a man like me?"

"This king? A better world than has ever been seen. A kingdom of conscience. A kingdom of heaven. Peace instead of war...love instead of hate. Did you think that lay at the end of "crusade"?"

How could there be so much peace after all that death and war, "It does," Godfrey said when they both shook their head, "There is peace between Christian and Muslims. We live together. Or between Saladin and the King we try. Men still go down to the Holy Land for war, however, and war they will have, for all the good kings and fine intentions in the world. You will serve the peace, and the King. Swear," he said.

Balian clasped his father's hand, "I swear…"

"What of me?" asked Sarah, "What is to become of me?"

"You too are a part of my house," he said, "I will ask nothing of you but to love my eldest as you loved his brother, do not let him stray from his path…"

Balian shifted in his seat very uncomfortably and Sarah's face took on a rosy hue, not out of shyness – but out of the pure absurdity of the situation, "Godfrey, I am Muslim… he is Christian…"

"Often the Kingdom of Heaven starts in the smallest ways," he said in response, "you have a kind heart, and a strong faith… swear that you will not let him stray…"

She hesitated before she grasped Godfrey's hands in her own and she pressed a kiss to the top of his hand, "I swear," she said gently.

"You two and Hamzah will be all that survives me," he told them, "do not disappoint me…"

They nodded and then Balian got up to leave, Sarah decided she would remain with Godfrey and help tend to him.

* * *

And there you have it, notes? Comments? don't hesitated to leave them. Sarah's horse, Riyah, means Wind.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own KoH, also aside from the story-line you will find I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible...

* * *

Balian sat upon a low wall watching the beach as hundreds of men prayed as he had seen Sarah pray many time upon the road. There was much happening within the docks and beside him stood a man, "Venetians. Genoans. All the trade of the world. When we took the Holy Land we took the Saracen trading ports. So Italian ships carry silks and spices, and pilgrims if they have money, and Italy becomes rich. As the Savior intended," he said, placing his hands upon the wall.

Balian's attention was on the men praying, "Those men…" he began slowly.

"Muslims," he said with a mild shrug, "Saracens."

"They are allowed their prayers?" Balian was astonished, he had not seen many men pray as Sarah prayed, he knew they were forbidden from many a thing.

His companion chuckled, "If they pay a tax," Balian could hear them call in Arabic and his companion spoke "Subhana Rabi Al-Adheem… Praise be to God, it is proper to

praise him," he said with a knowing grin.

"It sounds like...our prayers," Balian said before he turned his attention to the men once more.

"Our faiths are not too different," Sarah's voice said and both men turned to look upon her; she had a wan smile on her face and Balian's companion bowed to her. Balian suddenly stood at alert and she seemed to notice his urgency, "Godfrey rests," she informed him, "he was quite content to rest with his grandson in the crook of his arm while I was bid to find some source of sustenance," she moved to the wall to look down upon her brothers of faith, "I was not allowed any of the food of the Hospital."

"That is for the sick," said Balian's companion.

She nodded her agreement before he held out his arm for her as if to escort her, "I shall show you where to eat the finest fruits of the sea."

She frowned for a moment but allowed him to lead her and Balian down winding paths until they were near the docks. The sight and smell of the sea brought her some calm before she found herself in a mess of men who seemed to not care about Saracen of Christian, they laughed and ate and drank while Sarah and Balian watched them with bemused expressions. Their companion joined them with platters of crustaceans and he placed them upon the table, Sarah studied it for a moment before he showed them how it was devoured.

Sarah decided she would not attempt the mess and found she was content with observing the joviality of the men about her, her smile soon fell when a shadow was cast upon her and a familiar voice spoke, "When the King is dead," he spoke, "Jerusalem will be no place for friends to the Muslims and traitors to Christendom like your father," he spoke and she found that he held his riding crop to Balian's face across Sarah and he continued speaking, "I am Guy de Lusignan. Remember that name," he held the crop away from Balian and it seemed as if he were to lightly strike Sarah across the face, "And me." Before his strike could fall Balian snatched the riding crop and he threw it down beside him without glancing up at the Knight.

"Keep it," sneered Guy before he spat into the plate before Sarah, she made no motion to show he had upset her, she simply folded her hands in her lap and she remained silent.

As Guy walked away Balian called out to him; "How will you ride, my lord, if you cannot beat the horse?"

This did not please Guy de Lusignan, this much Sarah could see, but secretly she was very pleased as Guy grabbed the riding crop once more and stomped off.

Their companion was torn between seeming amused and irritated, "He will be king in Jerusalem one day," he spoke and gestured after Guy, "and you and your Lady here will not stand a chance before you hang in the streets…"

"He does not frighten me," spoke Sarah who looked at Balian.

"Then you are brave," he responded.

She shrugged before she stood from her seat, "I go to see to Godfrey once more," she informed him. He was about to rise but she held up a hand, "I know the way," she insisted.

"Do you carry your sword?" asked Balian, after their unsavory encounter with the Knight both Balian and their companion feared to let the woman travel alone – even if she were to walk a small distance.

"I would not carry my sword in a Hospital," she said, "nor would I carry it to dinner…"

"There will be a day where you must," spoke Balian before he handed her a knife, the knife was one he had just used to cut into the crab.

She waved it away and upon her heel she turned before she walked away. She walked briskly without pause or stops until she was at Godfrey's side, he was deathly pale and Hamzah was slumbering on a small cot within the room while the Hospitaler crouched over the Lord.

"I fear he draws last breaths, my Lady," he said while she gently picked up a frail pale hand. "He has re-written his will," he informed her and her heart clenched, she did not want to think of Godfrey dying.

"Do not speak of such things," she whispered.

The evening wore on slowly and Sarah could do nothing but watch Godfrey take his final breaths, every breath – she knew – brought him closer to meeting the Lord who created him from flesh and blood.

It was late when Balian was called and Godfrey was moved, Sarah found herself weeping when she thought of Godfrey dying. She wept for him – she wept for her son, and she wept for herself. He was carried away and she followed until she could not, it seemed they did not wish for any other than Godfrey, a priest, and soon Balian in a simple white garment. He vanished into the room and Sarah went to curl up around her son as he still rested in the room where Godfrey had been in before. She did not sleep instead she watched as her son slumbered on, she did not know the time when she heard footfalls and that caused her to sit up. Balian shuffled in carrying Godfrey's sword and the ring of the Baron was upon his hand, "My lord," she said quietly as she got up and she lightly curtsied. He did not look very pleased, he sat down beside her and placed the sword against the wall, he looked back at Hamzah who still slumbered peacefully.

"What will you tell him?" he asked.

She sat down and gently pulled the blankets to cover her son, "I do not know," she said quietly, "I did not know what to tell him about his father – I will not know what to tell him about his grandfather…" she stared out the window and to the dark night sky, "what were you bid?" she asked.

"To go to Jerusalem," he responded, "to the King…"

She nodded silently before she clasped her hands tightly in her lap, "I was bid to take Hamzah to Ibelin," she said quietly, "I will not take to the Sea…"

"How?" he asked.

"I will go by Land," she responded, "it will be a long road, and it will not be safe, but it is best…"

He nodded and they fell into silence, Balian pondered about the woman that sat beside him, she was content with staring out to the dark sky. He looked down upon Hamzah and frowned, "Alone?" he asked.

"No," she responded, "we will leave with the Hospitaler, he will aide us to Ibelin."

They were both silent for a long time, neither speaking nor daring to, he finally rose to his feet and Sarah raised her hand, "Do not leave," she bid him, "Hamzah – has grown fond of you, perhaps you remind him in a way of his lost father," she studied her son, "I would wish he saw you before we parted ways…"

"When do you take leave?" he questioned.

"When you leave for the Holy Land…" she responded.

It was in the following morning they all stood at the docks, Hamzah hid behind his mother's skirts as Balian and the Hospitaler spoke, the child stared wide-eyed at the world around him before Balian crouched down and studied the boy who hesitantly reached out his arms to hug the man.

"Protect your mother," he told the boy who nodded dutifully. He kissed the top of Hamzah's head and released his hold on the boy who clutched his mother's skirts once more. Balian stood and looked upon Sarah, "Always keep your sword near," he told her.

She nodded and he bowed to her before he grabbed his back and walked up the gang-plank.

Their companion from the previous day joined Balian, "You too go to the Holy Land?" Balian asked.

His companion nodded and uttered a prayer before his eyes fell upon Sarah and Hamzah, the latter of the two was waving at them.

"Your son?" he asked curiously and cautiously.

"No," responded Balian, "My son and his mother are both in Heaven…" he spoke unsurely but did not feel in want of conversation about the matter, "that woman is under the protection of the Baron of Ibelin," he spoke plainly and his companion nodded.

"Fortunate is she, my friend…" he clapped Balian on the shoulder, "Come, our journey is long and men begin to stink quickly."

On land the Hospitaler, Sarah, and Hamzah walked away from the docks. Their horses were saddled and ready, her sword was concealed under the saddle and soon her skirts. Once she was upon the horse the Hospitaler lifted Hamzah so that he could sit with his mother who wrapped her cloak about them both, the Hospitaler then climbed into his saddle and soon they were off.

Their journey would be a long one that would take them through Turkey and the Levant. "Are you worried, my Lady?" asked the Hospitaler.

"Not for myself nor my son," she said, "but the sea is perilous and the winds treacherous… I worry for the Baron."

The Hospitaler nodded and on their way they continued northward.

The farther north they traveled the colder it became, village after village they passed often they would seek refuge in an inn for those willing to welcome them, often they slept on the road with a fire keeping them warm. Sarah often missed Messina or Cordoba, she often wished for warm weather and a down-filled mattress, but she mostly missed hot baths in ceramic tubs.

Through their journey they had been fortunate to not meet any Templars of knaves and when they arrived to Constantinople the weather finally suited Sarah and she had no need for her furs which she put away. "Perhaps we could stop at an Inn," she suggested hopefully. She found herself in severe need of a bath.

"Yes," he told her, "I think so…"

She let out a relieved sigh before they found their way to an inn, Sarah carried Hamzah into the room they were given and soon after they had a bath waiting for them. Much later in the evening the Hospitaler and Sarah took dinner in her room so they could speak privately, "When we enter Syria we might find that our path is interrupted," he informed her, "Salah Al-Din rules Syria…"

"This I know," she responded, "I have been pouring over some maps and I thought if we remained close to the shore, instead of going into the heart of Syria we might go through Latakia, Tripolis, Beirut… and so on until we find Ibelin…"

He pondered this for a moment before he nodded, "That is a sound plan, my lady," he told her.

"Shall we do so, then?" she questioned.

He nodded, "Aye," he confirmed.

"Very well," she said.

By the next morning they were out of the inn and on their way to Latakia.

Onward they journeyed for weeks and weeks on end when finally they found themselves in a dusty land with many houses and palm trees, many people ran out curiously to see who these newcomers were and one seemed to be expecting her because he spoke to her in Arabic, "You are the wife of Godfrey's son?" he questioned.

"Yes," she responded.

He clapped once and suddenly a cluster of women were at her side, helping her down, removing the saddle, men led the horses away and she was taken to the main house where Hamzah was taken from her and she was bustled into a bathroom with a large tub, there they stripped her without any hesitation and soon she found herself in the hot water as they scrubbed at her skin and feet and scalp. Once she was clean they rubbed scented oils upon her skin and dressed her in white linen before she was allowed a dress. It seemed a shock to her to receive such attention when at her house she never called for so.

She sat down in a room they had taken her stuff to and Hamzah ran in cleaner than he was since they left Cordoba. She took him in her arms and he began to tell her of everything he had seen; she only half paid attention to him, she studied the room about her and she recalled Godfrey with a sad smile. She rose to her feet with Hamzah in her arms and she studied the land and she could recall her wish to till land.

"My lady is in good countenance," said the Hospitaler when she joined him for supper.

She saw that they had cooked something she had never seen before in Cordoba.

"The land is new to me," she informed him, "I would love to work the fields with the people on this land…"

"I do not think they would tell my lady no," he said, "you are the lady of the house and the land until the return of Balian."

She tried the meat and found it was lamb, moist and well-cooked as it was she decided it was the best thing she'd had to eat since she left her home.

"And I must take my leave by the morrow," he informed her.

She frowned, "So soon?" she questioned.

"I'm called away to Jerusalem," he responded.

"I thank you for your friendship and your protection," she told him.

He nodded to her, "It was my honor," stated he.

Their meal continued in silence.

The following morning, true to his word, the Hospitaler left to Jerusalem. And true to her word Sarah had asked for plain clothes to help in the fields, at first she was met by many protests from everyone but when she tied her scarf back and she declared she would wear her simplest dress she was given a plain blue tunic and tan trousers to be worn beneath them. Once she was appropriately dressed and she decided against wearing her boots as none of the workers wore them she began to work with them while Hamzah found friends in children his age and older who realized that he could not hear all that well.

That is how Sarah decided to start this new life of theirs, day in and day out she would join the people of the land, she would break her fast with them, she would pray with them, and at the end of the day she had her supper with them.

It was one day while she was working the land when she heard the men call that the Baron of Ibelin had returned, she watched the men, women, and children excitedly run to see this new Baron of theirs while Hamzah curiously joined his mother, "Why are they running?"

"Balian is back," she informed her son.

His eyes lit up and soon he darted after the others, now four she was proud of how strong he had become. She had made the decision to remain seated under the shade of her favorite tree, let the people have their Baron; she wanted her moment of peace.

She crossed her legs at the ankle and studied the dry land, while she had been there most of the crops they attempted to plant had died in the attempt. The soil was far too dry for it to produce anything good, and while the people were generous they were also going hungry.

"I thought I would find you first," Balian's voice spoke.

She looked over at him and saw that he wore his Livery, "I don't know how I feel about Knights of the King," she responded.

"I left you a Lady," he countered and grabbed her hands to pull her onto her feet, "here I find you among the peasants; they tell me you've been tilling this earth."

She raised her chin defiantly, "If I was?"

He studied her with a small smile upon his face, "Sarah…" She felt a stirring within her gut that filled her with warmth when he spoke her name; she did not realize that she had indeed missed this man. "You are happy," was all he had to say.

She nodded, "Yes, I've finally found something I want…" she said and he took her hand so he could place it in the crook of his arm, together they walked to the house.

"Dine with me tonight," he told her, "we have much to talk about…"

She paused and looked up at him curiously, "Good – or bad?"

He had a grin on his face, "I missed your company," he said, "and I wish to spend time with you, is it forbidden?"

It embarrassed her to admit it out loud but she shrugged, "I've missed you as well," she said.

He nodded and they walked into the house where Hamzah was running around excitedly. She picked her son up and vanished into her rooms to bathe, they met on the terrace. Sarah sat across from Balian while Hamzah sat at his knee, "A thousand acres... a hundred families - Christians, Jews, Muslims and fifty pairs of Oxen, one gave birth to a calf yesterday," she informed him, "but the land is dry… and the crop dies… you must join me in the morning…"

He studied her, "Why do you have an interest in the land?" he asked.

"I am Arab, my lord, good soil to till in… it is in my blood…" she looked at him, "why do you smile so?"

He looked down at Hamzah before he looked at her once more, "I spent so long away from both of you that I did not realize just how much I would miss your company," he stated.

She felt her face heat up, "Tell me your tale, Baron of Ibelin…"

He let Hamzah run to his mother before he curled up beside her on the cushions, "My ship was caught in a storm," he informed her, "and I washed up on shores where I came across a horse…" he began to tell her of everything he had been through, the fight in the desert, meeting King Baldwin and his sister the Princess Sibylla. "I was asked to return here to protect the Pilgrim road, but I am happier still to be able to be with you two," he admitted.

"Balian, it is out of your character to be so frank," she said with a small smile.

He nodded and then she carried Hamzah and she stood to her feet, he rose to his feet as well and took the boy from her before he followed her through the house into her rooms where he placed him on the bed she slept in. His attention was drawn to her desk where he saw a pile of parchment, "No –" she began but he strode over to it curiously and he saw they were sketches. In a small glass bowl he saw pieces of charcoal; he could see what appeared to be illustrations of the land.

"The land – deserves to be chronicled," she explained bashfully.

"You continue to surprise me, my Lady…" he told her.

She shrugged and he walked out of the room, he grabbed her hand and gently pressed a kiss to her knuckles before he wished her a good night. When she closed the door her chest felt tight with emotion she could not have. He was of one faith and she was of another – two faiths fighting a bloody war. Yet there she stood and her chest tight with emotion and the want of Balian, she had missed him in his absence though she had not thought much of him other than the son of Godfrey, but he had been kind while they journeyed together. He spoke to her as an equal, he spoke to her the same way Yousef did. He spoke to her and he listened to everything she had to say.

She noticed her body was shaking, they were of two faiths, it was so clear in her faith and in the world that a match between them could never happen. She hoped that it was perhaps their reunion matched with how late the hour was that caused her so much turmoil so she decided to ignore it and attempt to sleep.

When it was morning once more she and Balian walked to the lands, both were dressed simply and Hamzah had gone to play with his friends, "What do you suggest?" he asked her when they stopped by dry crops.

"Water," she said, "we need a running source of water…" He kicked the dirt beneath his feet for a moment before he looked at her with a smile, "What?"

"We will dig a well," he told her.

Her face lit up, "Yes!" she said and called for shovels and men to dig.

She grabbed a shovel but he stopped her, "No," he said and she began to protest, "I need you to survey the land, you have been here a while and so you know these lands, help me build a water system for our land…"

She studied him before he lightly smacked her leg and said 'Yalla', she gave him a look before she ran off.

As the day wore on and they had found water deep in the ground Sarah saw people riding in on Horseback, one of which was a woman who was dressed finely. Curiously she joined Balian who lead her forward with a hand on her back.

They walked to the woman and Balian grabbed the reins of the horse to keep it steady, "I'm on my way to Cana. Where Jesus changed water to wine," she paused and looked down upon Balian, "But a better trick would be to change you to a nobleman."

Balian smiled, "That should be easy. In France, a few yards of silk can make a nobleman."

This caused the lady to chuckle, "I expect your hospitality," she said.

Balian looked over to Sarah for a moment who seemed stunned before she nodded and Balian bowed, "It is given," he then called upon one of the servants to attend to the others.

While they were lead away Sarah and Balian returned to their work, "You look surprised I would ask your leave," he said.

She hesitated before she spoke, "Why would you? You are the Baron of this land…"

"And you are the Lady of the house," he countered.

"Balian…" she said gently.

"Godfrey left Ibelin to both of us," he explained and put his hands on her shoulders, "get used to it." He then stepped away and beckoned for her to follow him.

"That is the Princess," he told her.

"She followed you quickly," said Sarah.

He glanced back at her and it made her stop, "Why do you look at me so?" she questioned.

He smiled and walked away again.

Together they worked on wooden pathways for the water and soon there was water going to every part of that land – even as they stood they could see it become a little greener.

"Thank you," he told her.

"I have done nothing," she responded.

"You took care of the land before I could," he said simply and they watched the children play with the water; Sarah joined them so they could show her how they made little boats.

"Must I?" she said Aminah, the woman who always attended to her, drew upon her hands with Henna later in the day, "Must I attend to the Princess?"

"She has asked for your hospitality and you will give it," Aminah responded sagely. Sarah let out a quiet sigh, "The Baron finds you lovelier."

Sarah bristled, "I do not see how –"

"The Princess is lovely, but you are lovelier in your own right, you tend to the people, the land, you walk as we walk and eat as we eat, you have much virtue, my Lady, and a son who loves you – a crippled son… The Baron might not have feelings of love for you, but we have eyes and we see that he sees you," she sat back, "and now you are dressed in your finest…"

She said nothing in response before she rose to her feet, "Tend to Hamzah tonight," she bid Aminah who nodded and smiled.

Sarah walked out to join the princess who sat watching the lands and namely Balian who was still working in the fields.

"It seems that you two will build a new Jerusalem right here," she said.

Sarah sat down across from Sibylla, "I doubt it," she responded.

"Have you ever been to Jerusalem?" she questioned.

"Once," said Sarah, "I was very young I can hardly remember it… but it was once home to me…"

Sibylla studied her for a long breath before she spoke once more, "I would have you visit with me…"

"You do not know me, Highness," she said.

"You have an honest face, the kind I would share secrets with," she studied Sarah, "That boy – he is your son?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"They say with the son of Godfrey, I assume…" she trailed off.

"No," said Sarah quickly, "not with my lord," she explained, "my husband – my late husband was one of Godfrey's sons… out of wedlock and raised by a father who loved him all the same…"

"I see," said Sibylla and they were brought food, Sarah did not touch it but Sibylla did, "Why do you not eat?"

"Apologies," she said with a small smile, "I thought I'd wait for Balian to eat, I'm a mother, I cannot help myself…" she reached forward, "you see before my husband died I would wait for him to join me before I broke my bread…"

"How did you lose him?"

"Battle," was the very simple answer.

Balian soon joined them and chose to sit beside Sarah who shifted and watched as he began to help himself, "Where's Hamzah?" he suddenly asked.

"I thought Her Highness would prefer to sit without the nuance of a little boy," she responded.

Sibylla let out a polite laugh, "Oh, but I am used to it, I have a son of my own – a bit older than yours…"

Sarah felt something in her stomach unknot, so the Princess was already with Husband.

Sibylla continued talking, this time she was looking at Balian, "I was watching you today. You've been given a patch of dirt, and it seems you will build a new Jerusalem here…"

Balian looked at Sarah for a brief moment, "It is my land. Who would I be if I did not try to make it better?" Sarah could not help but smile at a very brief and distant memory but he continued in his speaking, "It was Sarah who began it, since the day she has come to Ibelin I was told she has tried to tend to the ground – even forsaking the comfort of a decent pair of boots…"

She looked at him, "One can't help the people if they don't understand their frustration…" she responded, "Our Prophet used to help with the building, he would go hungry with his people, if they went without food – so did he…" she heard someone beckoning to her, "I apologize," she said and stood up, "I must attend to my prayers…"

They watched her step in and Sibylla stood to watch the Muslims of Ibelin pray together in the fields, "They try to be one... one heart, one morality. Their prophet says, 'Submit' Jesus says, 'Decide'," she looked on into the room where Sarah prayed dutifully.

Balian studied Sarah for a moment, "To say that they submit sounds like a burden and I have never seen Sarah seem burdened… often I asked her and yes, they have been told to submit – but they also have the choice to decide…"

Sibylla sat down once more, "Perhaps a little too observant," she said lightly.

"It is difficult not to," he admitted, "I have been traveling with her for a long time, since when it felt like I was a different man…"

Sarah joined them once more, her face seemed serene, "Again, I apologize," she spoke softly.

She sat beside Balian once more and turned her gaze to the sky, "It grows dark, perhaps we should bring some light…"

Balian lit a lamp and their evening continued, Sibylla could not help but ask Sarah about the complexities of her faith and how a faith built on submission could have any form of decision making.

Sibylla eventually retired and Balian and Sarah still sat together while they conversed about what to do with the land.

"I would like to see Olive Trees," she told him, "and grape vines…"

"We could make our own wine," he informed her simply to gauge her reaction.

She looked at him, "I suppose…"

"I only said it in jest," he stated.

She shook her head and she leaned back against her seat so she could look up at the stars, he studied her, "Have you ever found answers to your questions in the stars?" he asked.

"No," she responded, "but their cold light have given me comfort…" she let out a heavy sigh, "I thank you for this new life you and your father have given me…" she looked at him and saw he was studying her perhaps a bit too keenly.

"It is a new life for both of us," he said.

She hesitated, "Balian," she said, "Godfrey – what he said at Messina –" she sat properly and wrung her hands, "It has been on my mind – as to its meaning… I cannot offer my love," she told him and it pained her to do so. "As I did to Yousef, I can guide you to never stray – I can push you onto the right path – by my heart…" she felt her tongue turn to lead, she had brought this upon herself and now she felt like a fool. "We are of two faiths," she continued, "and as such – we cannot – I cannot…"

He grabbed her wrist and pressed her palm onto his, for a long moment they were both silent, "I do not ask you to," he said, "I admit I have had stirrings in my own heart that I know cannot come to pass, but I can't deny what I feel – I ask nothing of you… if I can have you as a friend – a companion – then I am content…" She nodded and watched as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, "Go to Hamzah, tomorrow we have much to do…"

She obeyed simply because every bone in her body felt the need to be closer to him but her mind and heart knew that it was not something to be. She would have to be content with what God gave her.

* * *

I apologize for vanishing, you see... life happened and so on...


End file.
